


Like a Road Trip

by Kestrelwinter



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: I Don't Even Know, John and Finch being adorable, M/M, what even is this, why, why did i do this to myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrelwinter/pseuds/Kestrelwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Harold head north to investigate a new number in Cold Spring, New York. Stuff happens on the way, maybe a little bit of fluff that a hurting puppy needs at the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Road Trip

“Mr Reese, I don’t think you’re going to like this…” John Reese slammed his face ungracefully on the desk where he’d fallen asleep momentarily. The sound of the faceplant echoed through the abandoned train station that Team Machine now called home base, for the time being.

“What is it, Finch?” John asked the smaller man sleepily as Finch hobbled over to where the ex soldier slept. “It’s another number, isn’t it.” He grimaced slightly at Finch’s head nod.

Today had been a rare day off, and while John knew that the machine never slept, he’d wanted a few minutes to breathe. Psychology sessions with Iris had lately been taking a toll on his mind, he’d had to dredge up so many things that he’d rather leave alone, but he knew that the tiny redhead meant well. He smiled a little at the memory of her awkward blushing when he’d told her about a mission years ago with a terrorist cell in Oklahoma that had him literally in bed with the enemy.

“So where do we start Harold? It’s only…” he checked his watch “four in the morning.” The big man sighed as he stretched out his arms and stood up. Why Harold kept such a mess of furniture in the station he’d never understand, but he figured that even a rich man had to scrounge sometimes when Samaritan, the evil A.I. trying to take over the world had, intervened.

“Well, it’s a few hours away, so you’d better get your coat. They call the town “Cold Spring” for a reason, I assume.” Finch said with a raised eyebrow.

As they walked the tunnels and stairwells that lead up the street level, Finch briefed Reese on their new target, unsure as usual, if the elderly man that Reese was now staring at in photograph was the potential victim of a crime or about to commit one of his own. “This man’s name is Lee Parker, a shipping clerk in town, he went missing for a brief period about four months ago.” Finch paused, waiting for Reese to pick up.

“And then what? Why would the machine give us his number if it can’t find the guy?”

“That’s just it, Mr. Reese,” Finch returned, always pleased when his partner followed his train of thought. “Mr Parker returned home only two days after he’d been reported missing, physically intact. He was of the impression,” Finch said dramatically, as he stepped into the passenger side of the black sedan that would take the two men to their destination, “that he’d been abducted by aliens.” John cocked an eyebrow himself as the two men buckled seat belts and began their long trip to Cold Spring.

****

An hour later found John and Harold on the highway, with the sun just beginning to rise. John kept a steady eye on the road while his partner had fallen asleep minutes after they’d gotten on the road.

Reese spared a moment off the path in front of him to marvel at the man who had, so many years ago, brought him back to life. It seemed almost unimportant now, but no matter how often the two men had saved each others lives over the years, he knew how deeply he owed Harold for pulling back from oblivion. When Jessica died, John had been a mess for so long, but Finch had given him a real reason to continue on, making him more than the shell he’d gotten accustomed to being.

He turned his attention back to the road, the sun sneaking over the edge of the dashboard, illuminating the birdlike face of the man that so often occupied John’s thoughts. If he was being honest with himself, in his life women had come and gone, and while every single one mattered to him, Finch was...something else. Now Zoe and Iris, so unalike, were both serving the same kind of crutch. He hated to admit that he felt that way, but it was the sad truth.

Then there was Joss, the heroic cop who had died so horribly that it had ripped Reese apart for months. John had felt deeply for her too, and had left a bloody swath across the tri-state area to prove it.

But then there was Harold. Somehow, inexplicably, there was always Harold. This awkward little man, far too smart for his own good, and, John smiled, their years of, for lack of better word, misadventures. He laughed softly, realizing that the longest relationship, friend or otherwise, was with Harold, and he wondered if the other man realized it too.

“Mr Reese,” A voice came from the passenger seat.

“Yeah, Finch?” came the husky reply of the driver. “You shouldn’t use whipped cream like that,” Finch slurred, sleep laden. John whipped his head around to stare at his passenger, who was still very deeply asleep, and mutter to himself. “We can’t let Bear eat it off the floor, it’s not good for his digestion.”

Reese blushed like a schoolgirl, his facial warmth offsetting the broken heating system in the car. The roads outside gracefully turned from city to rural landscape and an iced over town sign bearing the words “Welcome to Cold Spring” thankfully brought John out of wondering exactly what Harold had been dreaming of.

Hours later, around Seven AM, Reese and Finch checked into their small bed and breakfast under the names “John Everett and Harold Rook” a wealthy banker and his kept boyfriend. John started to hesitate at Harold’s insistence that they pose as a couple, uncharacteristic of Finch, he’d neglected to tell him his cover beforehand aside from a well crafted fake New York drivers license. The concierge, a young man with slicked back brown hair and a tacky plaid vest, simply winked at the men and told them that they were getting a great deal on their one bedroom semi-suite.

Reese took a few minutes to shower and, after getting out of the shower in nothing but a complimentary beige towel, was greeted by the sight of his “partner” offering a steaming coffee mug. “Cream, no sugar, just how you like it, John.” Reese took a deep drink of the warming liquid and chuckled, amused that Finch even knew how to make coffee using an old fashioned carafe.

“Thanks Finch. You’re sure you’re not too uncomfortable in this town? Not too “small town” for you?” This earned him a chastising look from the smaller man who retorted, “Mr. Reese, I’ll have you know that I grew up in a small town, and I can certainly make coffee at the very least.” The slight burn marks on Finche’s fingers were not unnoticed by John.

“So who is this guy, Finch? Where are we even going to find him?” Reese asked, a usual line of questioning for the pair, they’d done this song and dance before.

“The machine noted that he belongs to a small group unique to this town, A.A.” noted Finch.

“Well, it’s good that the guy’s in recovery, but Alcoholics Anonymous isn’t exactly what I’d call unique,” Reese replied.

“Abductees, Mr. Reese. Abductees Anonymous was started by Mr Parker, actually, and they conveniently have a meeting this morning in about an hour. That will give us a chance to get breakfast.”

****

“Hi everyone, I’m Sandra…” The quiet mousy woman began at the head of Elk’s Lodge where A.A. ran its meetings, the group chanted “Hi, Sandra” in unison and she returned an awkward smile. “I was abducted about four years ago. I was sleeping in bed when this great white light came through my window…”

Reese wondered if it would be rude to fall asleep right here. After thirty minutes of introductions, he’d had eyes on Lee, and informed Finch, always in his ear via bluetooth earpiece. The man in person was the very picture of a former hippie retiree: overweight, with thick grey hair that came halfway down his back, a blissed out look on his face. As the mousy woman who’d introduced herself as Sandra wound down her story, he stood up and took the floor.

“That’s excellent Sandra, thank you as always, for sharing your experiences. Friends, we know why we’re here: to provide support for fellow travellers who have had horrible, even gruesome experiences, and I thank you all for coming. Now, before we get down to the actual meeting, I wanted to start with a few announcements-

A loud crash sounded outside the lodge, and a man burst through the doors, visibly shaken clutching what looked to be a large icicle. He ran towards the circle, and Reese was up and on him immediately. With the speed and grace of a cobra, John had the man in a headlock, Finch yelling concern in his earpiece. “Mr. Reese, are you alright? I heard a crash and yelling.”

“I’m fine, Finch,” John said, “some nut just broke the door down trying to get into this meeting.” Lee and the others rushed to John, urging him to release the man.

“John, this is Thomas Aldritch, he’s a member of our group. Tom, you look shaken, what’s going on?” Lee asked the man, who turned out his hands and showed the group the “icicle” in his possession. It was a hand, human by the size, completely frozen and broken off at the wrist. John grabbed Lee by the wrist and pulled him out of the lodge in the ensuing panic.

Once John and his new number made it back to the B&B, Finch sat on the bed with all of the computers and tech that he could fit in a rather large suitcase open and working. “John, why did you bring Mr. Harper here?” he asked with a degree of concern, “Sorry… darling.” John choked out with a blush, “I thought it’d be safer for him here. After all,” he paused thoughtfully, “his group has important work going on.”

“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?” demanded the portly gentleman, now red in the face from anger and activity. “I need a smoke, honestly, this is way too much for a Friday morning.”

By noon, the town was abuzz of the murder in the square. The body, one Erica Northman, a young journalist, had been murdered, frozen in liquid nitrogen, and posed in the center of Cold Spring. Apparently her “statue” had shattered and been discovered when some children had gotten her involved in a snowball fight thinking her a living bystander at a distance.

“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened apparently, Mr. Everett.” said Harold, over lunch at the local Diner, the Stars and Bars. “ Apparently several ice-themed murders have occurred with similar brazen artistry within the past two years. I think this may, unfortunately be the work of a serial killer.” His partner looked up at him as their young waitress placed two unreasonably large sandwiches in front of the men. “But why get his number, why send us all the way out here?”

“It looks like Lee wasn’t always a strung out group counselor,” Harold turned his laptop display around to Reese, “it looks like until 2008, Mr Parker was actually a successful software developer, until his so-called “abduction” working for a company you and I are both very familiar with, unfortunately. Decima Partners.”

Reese grimaced at the mention of the name of the company that had fronted Samaritan’s creation, and that they’d manage to extend their claws so deep into unknown territory that they’d reached such a small town.

He felt a familiar callused hand on his own. “It’s alright, Mr. Reese. You know that we’re in this together, yes?” Reese returned a smile to Finch’s weak one and the smaller man beamed in return.

They turned back to the computer, still hand in hand.


End file.
